


Team Pictures

by the_most_beautiful_broom



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, braven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 23:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13558257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_most_beautiful_broom/pseuds/the_most_beautiful_broom
Summary: For the prompt "who’s gonna write me a modern au! braven fic where these two are coaching the local girl soccer team and argue a lot and fall in love to the delight of a dozen teenage girls "“Alright, folks, just a couple more!” The photographer raised the camera again and Raven’s smile slid back in place, even as her mind was racing.This wasn’t how they did things.Arguments about the drills they wanted to run, about who they should start, about the best color Gatorade you could have in the cooler—it was red, what kind of idiot thinks blue is better—about anything and everything. Quick little digs that none of the girls caught, sarcastic comments under their breath, eye rolls over the team’s heads.That was what they did, what they’d done, what they were good at.This…whatever this was, they didn’t do this.





	Team Pictures

**Author's Note:**

> Guys! So Braven is like my top brotp, but [this post ](http://the-most-beautiful-broom.tumblr.com/post/170455177702/la-petite-fadette-bellamyblakesgun-bob-morley) was floating around tumblr with some gifs of Lindsey and Bob at the Whitecaps FC Charity Match and I needed a break from the emotional toll my other fics are taking on me, so I just had to write a little something for them!!

_On the plus side, I finally understand that ‘herding cats’ metaphor._

Raven lifted a hand to her mouth, hiding a smile at the photographer’s expense. The man was running around, trying to arrange thirty 12-year-old girls into some semblance of order for the mandatory team pictures.

As soon as he got one row all set for the shot, a girl from the top row of the bleachers would hop down to the one below her, or another would sneeze just as he clicked the camera, or decide she needed to tie their shoes at exactly that moment.

Either way, the hilarity had been building for well over twenty minutes, and Raven wasn’t even upset about how it was cutting into their practice time.

The photographer retreated to behind his camera and counted down from three again; his shoulders visibly relaxing when he got the shot.

_Poor man; he was in way over his head before we even started._

He actually wiped his forehead, the combined effects of direct sunshine and the turf field taking their toll on someone not used to operating on either.

“Alright,” he sighed, before raising his voice, “Now one with both coaches, please!”

At his words, Raven’s hand dropped, and her smile with it.

Of course, the girls didn’t miss a beat, squealing and elbowing each other as Raven tried to think of how on earth she hadn’t seen this coming.

“Oh no, I couldn’t, it’s a team picture,” she said diplomatically, deciding on the self-deprecating angle, “It’s supposed to be about the girls, not their washed-up coaches.”

“Washed up? Speak for yourself, Reyes,” a voice muttered at her elbow, and the girls’ giggles somehow intensified as Bellamy brushed past her.

_Classy as always, Blake._

She knew better than to look to the bleachers across the field for support; the mothers sitting there were all besotted with the man. If Raven had to hear one more time about how her co-coach was **_such_** a good instructor, with such a **_lovely_** smile, and have you **_ever_** seen someone with such **_natural_** athleticism, and it’s **_so_** sweet how he spends time with each of the girls, she was going to snap that until Hermes himself came down to proclaim Bellamy Blake his gift to middle school athletics, she didn’t want to hear another word of praise for the man. His ego was big enough without their encouragement.

But, she painted a smile on her face and stepped from behind the camera, trailing Bellamy to the bleachers.

If she played her cards right, they could bookend the team, and she wouldn’t have to deal with the delighted whispers from the team for the rest of the practice. As it was, they were already looking at each other and then between her and Bellamy with far too much enthusiasm for her liking.

The photographer crouched behind his camera, and straightened, shaking his head. “Too wide,” he called, “The shot isn’t long enough for you to be on the ends. Go in the back.”

Okay, so clearly she’d never been any good at poker.

Raven looked up the bleachers, and gritted her teeth, thinking of her leg. The girls were in four rows; she just had to make it up to the fifth. Five stairs. She could do that.

She took a breath and was just getting ready to start up the bleachers when she felt eyes on her. Lifting her own, she found Bellamy looking at her over the heads of the first row of girls. His eyes narrowed and he turned back to the photographer.

“Actually, what if we—”

_Oh you do not get to do that._

Call attention to the fact that she’s crippled in front of her team, her girls, their parents. They all knew—when a drunk driver hits a pedestrian and said pedestrian happens to be a small-town hero and Olympics contender, and the wreck shatters her right leg and her plans for the Summer Games—people tended to remember stories like that. But if there was anything Raven hated more than the fact that she couldn’t play the sport she loved, it was the pity that crossed other people’s faces when they remembered.

She turned quickly, her hair flying as she spun to look at the photographer.

“I’m fine,” she called quickly, lifting her chin in a challenge when Bellamy’s eyes snapped back to hers.  

_Bite me, Blake._

She knew he probably didn’t mean anything by it, that in some weird way he was trying to look out for her or something. But he didn’t understand her, he never did, not for a moment since they’d wound up coaching this team together. To an outsider, it might look like he was accommodating her injury, but she saw it for what it was: relegating her to an assistant’s position while he ran with the girls.

Raven hated being second. 

Her smile was beginning to feel more like a grimace, but she turned back to clamber up the bleachers. She regretted her pride after the first step, when her knee screamed in protest at the angle and leverage she was asking of it, but she gritted her teeth and took the next four in double time. When she got to the top, she couldn’t hide her limp, but she rolled her shoulders and walked to meet Bellamy at the center. His jaw was set; he knew exactly how the bleachers would affect her knee.

“Not a word,” she muttered when they got closer, “I’m fine.”

Bellamy opened his mouth, but Raven turned to face the front, hesitating when she realized she had nothing to do with her arms. She uncertainly placed them on the shoulders of the girl in front of her, relieved when Bellamy did the same.

“Closer, please?” the photographer called, and the girls tittered. Raven slid half an inch to her left and Bellamy did the same to his right; she was pretty sure they were telegraphing ‘this is as good as you’re going to get’ loud and clear to the photographer.

_Apparently not._

Because he scrunched behind the camera one more time, before shaking his head dramatically.

“Come on, pretend you like each other.”

Raven wondered if she threw herself off the bleachers, if that would make the photographer just take his picture. It was an awkward enough thing to say to people who’re family/actually care about each other, but she and Bellamy were neither of those things. She could practically feel the girls’ excitement skyrocket, and a couple of them even turned around.

If she hoped to find an ally in Bellamy, she was sorely mistaken. He looked like he wanted to crack up, which was odd, considering she aggravated him just as much as he did her. He stepped back from the row in front of them and shrugged, lifting his arm.

_For God’s sake, Reyes, you’re the only ones on the bleachers who aren't in middle school; just hug the man._

She stepped closer to him, her arm hesitantly creeping around his waist as his settled lightly on her back. The photographer looked entirely too pleased with himself, snapping pictures, then stepping back to check them.

“Pigtails, row three,” he called, “Look at me. Blue shirt, here in the front, put your foot down.”

The instructions continued, and Raven felt her smile grow stretched; her leg really was killing her. She tried to shift subtly, but there was no way Bellamy wouldn't notice that motion. The photographer pulled the camera off its stand, presumably to adjust the settings or something, and Raven jumped when she felt Bellamy’s hand on hers.

“Don’t get too excited, Reyes,” he muttered, his long finger wrapping around hers. And before she could find the words to voice her complete confusion, he’d moved her hand from his waist to his shoulder and switched his from her back to her waist. He slid his leg further to the right, forcing her to lean into him just to keep her balance, lifting all the weight off her bust leg, and holding her steady with the hand at her waist.

“Alright, folks, just a couple more!” The photographer raised the camera again and Raven’s smile slid back in place, even as her mind was racing.

This wasn’t how they did things.

Arguments about the drills they wanted to run, about who they should start, about the best color Gatorade you could have in the cooler—it was red, what kind of idiot thinks blue is better—about anything and everything. Quick little digs that none of the girls caught, sarcastic comments under their breath, eye rolls over the team’s heads.

That was what they did, what they’d done, what they were good at.

This…whatever this was, they didn’t do this.

But her knee hurt to much for her to push away from him, and Raven felt a bit of the fight drain out of her. She pretended not to notice that his thumb was moving slightly over her side, a soft up and down motion that was equal parts distracting and comforting. She tried to ignore the fact that he’d deliberately put his hand in the dip of her waist, when all the men she knew would’ve slide their hands up or down to see what they could get away with. She didn’t think about the fact that if she tilted her head just a little, it would probably rest perfectly on his shoulder. Or the way that he was literally supporting all her weight, and didn’t seem bothered by it at all.  And she definitely didn’t think about how strong his arm felt around her, and how this was the first time in actual years that she hadn’t been worried about falling over.

“Okay, that’ll do it!”

It was over. The photographer slipped a cover over his lens, and the girls spilled off the bleachers, clambering down onto the field.

Bellamy pulled his leg back carefully, helping her regain her balance before he lifted his hand from her waist.

Raven cleared her throat, trying to figure out how exactly to say _hey, thanks for being my human crutch_ in a way that didn’t sound like it was written by John Hughes. She looked out over the field, at the girls pulling soccer balls out of the bins at the other end.  “We could probably cut out the crossing drills, to make up for the time we lost.”

“We could do that,” Bellamy said, and something on his voice made her look at him.

“What?” she asked suspiciously. 

“What?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You sounded like you were laughing.”

His face was immediately transformed into a mock serious expression. “I never laugh.”

Raven frowned, but then looked away. “Whatever. Let’s just get down there; we’ve lost enough time.”

“Sure thing,” he said, but he didn’t move. Raven waited, and when nothing changed, she raised an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“Reyes, you have to let go, first.”

_Damn it._

She’d slid her hand from around his shoulders, and it had made it as far as his upper arm, but it was still resting there, and she was leaning on him for balance. She let go as soon as she realized it, her hand fluttering to her hair, anything to be busy. She chanced a glance back up at him, and though he was still pointedly not smiling, his eyes were crinkling suspiciously. Raven found herself wanting to smile back and shook her head, starting her descent from the bleachers. Mercifully, going down the stairs was never half as hard as going up them, since she could take them one at a time and just move her left leg. “Okay, so I owe you.”

Bellamy grinned openly, and followed her; she could feel him watching her carefully. At one point she almost stumbled, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say he nearly jumped to catch her. But she didn’t, so he didn’t.

They got to the bottom of the bleachers and Raven drew in a breath, knowing she’d have to do better than that as a thank you. “Look, Bellamy, I—”

He waved a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t worry about it.”

Raven blinked. She didn’t want to insist, but she felt like she was supposed to; she was saved from having to choose when one of the girls yelled across the field.

“Bell!!”

They both turned to the field; Octavia had a hand on her hip, a soccer ball balanced on her other leg. “Come on,” she yelled, “We already lost a lot of practice.”

Bellamy smiled at his sister’s antics. “No rest for the weary?” he said, and Raven followed him. They’d made it a couple of steps before she felt his eyes on her again.

“Okay, what now?” When she looked at him, his gaze snapped ahead, like he didn’t want to be caught.

Raven felt a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. He’d just held her up while some crazy photographer insisted on taking a million and ten pictures, had the entire side of her body pressed against his, had teased her for not letting go of his arm…and he was flustered by being caught staring?

Bellamy seemed to regain himself and he looked down at her. “I know what you can do to make it up to me.”

Raven tilted her head. “And what’s that?”

“The next three games,” Bellamy held up his fingers for emphasis. “Blue Gatorade.”

Raven sputtered as he took off without waiting for a response, jogging towards his sister and catching the soccer ball when she launched it at his chest. He blew a whistle and half the girls flocked over to him, the others waiting at the sidelines for Raven to meet them. It was how they always ran practice: she’d run drills with half the girls, he with the other, and then they’d switch. They’d usually end in a scrimmage of some sort, judging each other’s teams and trading snarky comments. Raven lifted the whistle from her neck, blowing it to start her girls’ drills. Throughout the practice, she felt his eyes on her, but whenever she looked at him, he managed to be doing something else. They switched halves, and practice went on. Just before they broke for the scrimmage, Raven realized she was smiling to herself. Yes, this was how practice usually went. But something about this time told her the sideline conversations during the scrimmage would to be much, much better.

 


End file.
